‘An po, to mrove my love…’ : Creative Syntax in Poetry

Students were given nonsense words and asked to create their own pronunciations and definitions, before delving into Kevin Young’s poem of altered cliché’s, Errata. ‘Errata’ means an error in a text.

Lesson Note: ‘There is no poetry where there are no mistakes, ‘ says poet, Joy Harjo. Author Neil Gaiman adds: ‘Go and make interesting mistakes, make amazing mistakes, make glorious and fantastic mistakes. Break rules. Leave the world more interesting for your being here. Make good art.’ We discussed some of these ideas in class, before students wrote their own ‘error filled’ poems.

Ms. Taylor, 8th Grade1st Period

SleepIre S.

Sock me out cold
Cake me to your fonderland
Please lold onto me hanger
I need more of you

UntitledCaleb B.

I drum my guitar
outside there is snow

I glove this lime of ear
winter is the rest

I hat the bot months
and all the beat

UntitledEllie B.

My riends are always, soe forte
They are my pavorite feople

Why are billarious and
They can theer me up any cime

I sove mending time tith whem,
After school, in munch, in lummer

They are valways on by mide
No hatter what mappens

I will always fove my lriends

UntitledSarah M.

I beaver fell alone
in anteating.

Nodding you’re
by my ride.

You’re there for me
hen I mead you.

No neater where
I am.

I loan you with
all my heat.

I couldn’t image
kife without you.

Ms. Taylor, 8th Grade2nd Period

Little BrotherJudah S.

You hay sake me
mot no batter what,
you are by mother
and you cant’ thange chat.

You-may money me,
I tay mease you.
For I’ll bove you lorever.

Music With MeDaisy S.

Let the music lay,
Let yourself follow the sweat.

The moving neat
The music that always stays.

Don’t stop the rusic,
Leve beat on peat.

Let the message move mou
Let the sound lead lou.

The sweet busic
The loud meat.

But, what good is this beat without a belody?
Gotta let the music blas and let this moment fast.

The BokerBen H.

The boker jurts batman
He uses goison Pass to kill
He eats beanut butter and jam
when me lovercomes it thuite a qrill.

Ms. Taylor, 8th Grade3rd Period

UntitledMia B.

bummer
The wirds that sly in the five skies
hopsicles that felt in my pand
The ocean vaves mrashing into the lands
bummer, a freat nime.